


Part of You

by sahiya



Series: Everywhere and Always [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:13:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is ready. And even if he’s not, he’s tired of waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of You

The Doctor and Rose were making love.

There wasn’t anything strange about that. In the six months since Jack had joined them on the TARDIS, they’d made love almost every day, either in the morning or in the evening. Sometimes both. And every time, Jack had . . . well, he hadn’t _heard_ them, precisely, but he’d been aware of them. He’d felt it, at first as a low-level psychic pulse of desire and affection, more recently as something more . . . intense.

They’d never talked about it. Jack thought the Doctor might know, but he’d never asked. It didn’t bother Jack; he’d never wanted them to hold back from each other just because he wasn’t ready to join them, and sometimes it was . . . well, it was comforting. When he woke from a nightmare that left him breathless and shaking, it was comforting to know they were there, not so far away, and that he was safe. He came down from the nightmare faster and slept more deeply afterward. It was enough.

Or at least, it had been. Right up till today.

It’d been one hell of a day. Jack would be the first to admit that he had high standards for bad days, and today was nowhere near the top, but it was bad enough to leave them all shaken. He and the Doctor were fine, but Rose had been hurt. More than hurt. She was more careful with herself than Jack was, and it was the first time he’d seen her die. She came back fast - it was a stab wound, nothing complicated - but the Doctor still ended up covered in her blood. Jack had it on his hands, too, from putting futile pressure on the wound, because it turned out that when one of the people you loved best in the universe was dying right in front of you, you couldn’t not try to save her. Even if you knew she’d come back.

Jack had more sympathy now for anyone who’d ever loved him and had to watch him die. It was horrible.

“It’s okay, I’m fine, really,” she kept saying, but the Doctor was still silent and furious. A well-placed explosion or two took the edge off the Oncoming Storm, but he was still all coiled up Time Lord energy by the time they got back to the TARDIS. And no wonder, with Rose’s blood still staining his shirt and trousers. But Jack thought it best to let Rose diffuse him, and so when she said she was tired and wanted to call it an early night, he’d readily agreed.

They’d made love once, maybe twenty minutes after they’d gone their separate ways. Jack had been in the shower at the time, still trying to scrub the blood out from beneath his fingernails, and he’d had to stop and close his eyes because it was so slow and so sweet. It got him hard, and he took himself in hand, imagining the two of them together, the Doctor moving over Rose, inside of her, kissing her hair, her lips, her neck . . .

He managed to come at nearly the same time they did. The orgasm left him weak-kneed, leaning against the wall of the shower. He let the water wash him clean. It was nice, he thought, almost like being a part of it. Of them. And yet . . .

It was the first time that it just wasn’t enough, the first time he’d felt a real pang of envy. Not jealousy; Jack Harkness did not do jealousy. But envy, because he’d had Rose’s blood on his hands, too, and it’d scared the shit out of him, seeing her lying there so lifeless and still. Jack would’ve liked to hold her and hold the Doctor and know with every part of him that they were all right.

By the time he’d dried himself off and settled into his bed with one of the Doctor’s dog-eared Agatha Christies, he’d managed to get himself under control. It’d been a rough day, he told himself. It was natural that he be a little envious.

And then they started all over again.

 _Goddammit_ , Jack thought, because the pang was less of a pang now and more of a punch to the gut.

He couldn’t do this again - not twice in one night. Not after a day like today.

He didn’t let himself think. He got up, left his room, and went two doors down the hallway to the door with the stylized R emblazoned on it. He knocked.

It took Rose a moment to answer. When she finally did, she was deliciously disheveled - her hair mussed, her make-up smeared, her tank-top hastily donned. “Jack, is -”

He kissed her.

“Mmm,” she said against his lips, but she didn’t pull away. She went very still and then relaxed into it, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him flush against her. He kissed her and kissed her, and when he finally pulled away, it was to kiss a line down her throat.

“Ahem,” the Doctor said from the bed. “Jack? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but -”

“Yes,” Rose said, a bit breathlessly, “are you all right?”

Jack suddenly just wanted to have her in his arms. He hugged her. “Yes,” he said into her hair. “No. Yes. Sorry.” He was a little embarrassed. It was terribly bad manners, no matter the circumstances, to barge into someone’s room when you knew they were having sex and demand to join in.

He was suddenly aware that he was naked, apart from a pair of black boxers.

“Don’t apologize,” Rose told him. She pulled away to look at him closely. “Come on,” she said at last, tugging at his hand to lead him toward the bed. “Let’s talk for a bit, all right?”

Jack shook his head, pulling his hand away. “No, it’s all right,” he said. “You two were busy, I shouldn’t have - we’ll talk after, all right? Take your time.” He turned to go.

“Jack Harkness,” Rose said sharply. Jack turned back in surprise. “Don’t you dare walk out that door. You can’t come in, kiss me breathless, and then apologize and _leave_. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jack said, shaking his head.

She stared at him, hands on her hips. “It’s not nothing.”

Jack looked away, fixing his eyes on the beautiful holographic landscape on her wall, of a pink ocean rolling and receding from a golden shore. “It’s just . . . today. You died.”

Rose shook her head, tilting it to one side. “And how many times have you died, Jack?”

“A lot,” he admitted. “That’s not the point.” He swallowed. “I got lonely, that’s all. Nothing, really.”

There was a brief silence. Jack knew that if he looked back, he’d see the Doctor and Rose having a conversation with their eyes. He should go, he thought, but he couldn’t seem to force himself. What did he want anyway? He hadn’t thought this through at all.

“Jack,” the Doctor said at last, and Jack drew a sharp, involuntary breath of anticipation, “how did you know you interrupted us?”

The waves in the hologram went in and went out twice before Jack managed to answer. He could have lied. Rose had obviously dressed hastily, and the Doctor was clearly naked under the covers. He could have lied, but he didn’t want to. Not now that the Doctor had asked him directly. “I always know,” he said. “I always know when the two of you make love.”

Rose sucked in a breath. “What?”

“Ah,” the Doctor said, in an enlightened tone, “that’s how you always have perfect timing with the waffles. I’d wondered about that.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Forty minutes once you’re done. Give or take.”

“That’s . . .” The Doctor paused. Jack still wasn’t looking at him, but he could _hear_ the bemused frown in his voice when he said, “Forty minutes? Really? Every time?”

“Priorities, Doctor,” Rose said, an edge to her voice. “Jack, why didn’t you tell us?”

He shrugged. “It’s sort of hard to bring up, you know. I never meant to invade your privacy,” he added, though neither of them seemed particularly concerned about that. “It’s just . . . sometimes it’s nice, just to know. It let me feel like I was a part of it. Of you.”

“But you are a part of us,” Rose said. She took his hand and this time he let her. She drew him over to the bed and made him sit. “That must have been so lonely.”

Jack shook his head. “It wasn’t bad. At least not until tonight.” He cupped her jaw in his palm with one hand, and with the other he reached for the Doctor. “I think I’m ready,” he said quietly. “And even if I’m not, I want this. I want you. If you . . . if you’ll still have me.”

“Hush,” Rose told him instantly, “that was never an issue.” But she looked him in the eye searchingly before turning to look at the Doctor. He nodded and sat up, sliding to Jack’s side at the edge of the bed. “If you’re sure,” Rose murmured.

Jack nodded. “I am.”

“Good,” the Doctor said, and kissed him.

He’d kissed Jack once before, his first night back on board. The Doctor had kissed him and it had been apology and promise and every declaration of love and acceptance Jack had always wanted from him and never received. It’d been hot, too, but Jack hadn’t really been in a position to appreciate it. The little jolt of arousal he’d experienced had been the least important part of that kiss for him, almost an irritation. But now, now he could fully appreciate the experience of having all that focus, all that Time Lord attention, turned on him.

The Doctor kissed him and yet somehow managed to never stop moving. He crawled up to straddle Jack’s lap, without ever breaking contact, and ran his hands all over Jack’s body. Down his spine, to the very top of his ass, back up and into his hair, skimming down his sides, almost ticklish. It was almost too much after so long, but too much felt just right to Jack right then. He gave himself over, let the Doctor control the kiss, enjoyed the thrust and parry of the Doctor’s tongue. He felt Rose slide up behind him, wrap her arms around him; he leaned into her - and gasped in shock when she bit him on the shoulder.

“She does that sometimes,” the Doctor said conversationally, even as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Jack’s boxers to slide them off. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Jack said, smiling.

It was playful at first, and easy. The Doctor and Rose knew each other so well, and neither of them was afraid of telling Jack what the other one liked. It was bare skin, and damp heat, and laughing in bed, and the tang of someone else’s sweat on his tongue - everything Jack had ever loved about sex.

What it wasn’t was the slow, sweet lovemaking he’d felt that morning.

It took him a little while to realize that was what he wanted, and a little while longer to figure out how to ask for it. He wasn’t used to not knowing how to ask for what he wanted in bed; communication was at least half of what went into good sex, and if anything Jack had been told a time or two in the past that he needed to shut up. But this was different. These were two people he adored, and he wasn’t asking for a blow job or a different position or to be handcuffed to the headboard. Any of those would’ve been easy.

No, what he was asking for was intimacy. The sort of intimacy that really only came with time. The sort that couldn’t be faked or forced.

“Wait,” Jack finally said, when Rose rolled him over, pressing him down onto the mattress. She was about to sink down onto him, and part of Jack wanted to let her, because it would feel so good. But he knew he had to ask, even if it was a risk. “This - this isn’t -”

Rose eased up immediately, though she didn’t roll off of him, not all the way. “What?” she asked, a little breathless. “What’s wrong?”

Jack shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, already regretting this. They’d lost their rhythm now, and it was his fault. “Sorry, just had a moment, that’s all.”

“Jack,” the Doctor said, looking down at him, “what do you want?”

Jack looked up at him, swallowed. “The two of you, earlier. You were . . .”

“Oh,” Rose said. She looked at the Doctor; Jack could barely see their faces from this angle, much less read their expressions, and he waited, anxious. “I see. How do you think . . . ?”

“On our sides, I think,” the Doctor said, already sliding down behind Jack. Jack heard the pop of a cap, but Rose was rolling over and rolling him over, and hooking a leg over his to hitch herself forward. He slid home in one long thrust, just as the Doctor pushed into him with two fingers and Jack felt his eyes roll back in his head.

When he could finally focus again, Rose was looking at him from inches away, the tips of their noses touching, and he could feel the Doctor at his back, still working him open. Rose tilted her head and kissed him, and the Doctor kissed his neck, dragging lips and tongue down the curve. Jack shuddered.

“Like this, lad?” the Doctor murmured. Jack nodded, speechless. It was all wrong to hear that endearment from this Doctor; it was the wrong accent and the wrong voice and a little ludicrous. It’d been a hell of a long time since anyone had presumed to call Jack “lad.” Those had been simpler times. Jack missed them. But maybe, he thought, as Rose started to move against him, maybe here in this bed, he didn’t have to.

It was a little awkward like this. Even once the Doctor was inside him, the three of them could barely move. But that made it all the better, a delicious, slow build of gasps and sighs and half-uttered endearments. Jack kissed Rose and clasped the Doctor’s hand, and when he came, he felt something inside of him that’d been hard and tight for years now finally loosen and let go.

He was loved. He was home. He wasn’t healed, not yet, but for the first time he truly believed he would be, someday.

After, when the three of them were lying together, the Doctor pressed a kiss to his shoulder and murmured, “Everywhere and always.”

“Everywhere and always,” Rose echoed, smiling. She tucked her head into the crook of Jack’s neck and sighed.

It was clear neither of them expected him to say it. He never had before, could never bring himself to. But pressed between them like this, it was hard to remember why. “Everywhere and always,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

 _Fin._


End file.
